( there's nothing he can do. he knows this, even asking. wanting to know.
it was an age ago, and there is nothing he conceivably would do, nothing caroline would assuredly want anyone to do, despite the bitterness and suffering laced into her words.
but he cannot help but know it, stuck between his ire and caring and disgust: a quiet acknowledgement. at that time, he wouldn't have done anything. in fact, he's done more or less the same, or worse, dozens of times over. yet the idea of damon's fangs in her neck, using her as nothing more than a toy...
his fingers flex at her arm and he says nothing for a long spell, his expression inscrutable but for the dark shadows in his eyes. )
no subject
it was an age ago, and there is nothing he conceivably would do, nothing caroline would assuredly want anyone to do, despite the bitterness and suffering laced into her words.
but he cannot help but know it, stuck between his ire and caring and disgust: a quiet acknowledgement. at that time, he wouldn't have done anything. in fact, he's done more or less the same, or worse, dozens of times over. yet the idea of damon's fangs in her neck, using her as nothing more than a toy...
his fingers flex at her arm and he says nothing for a long spell, his expression inscrutable but for the dark shadows in his eyes. )